


The Many Lives of Sexta Sertorius

by RosieBrookMeade



Category: The Strain (TV)
Genre: Definitely DEFINITELY no Daddy Kink here, Eventual Sex, F/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating will change, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-09 07:22:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8881129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosieBrookMeade/pseuds/RosieBrookMeade
Summary: Sexta was like many teenage girls. She worried about the way she looked, obsessed about her diet, harboured a secret crush on her teacher and wondered if she would ever get a boyfriend. Most of all, she fretted that she wasn’t normal. But normality was a tricky concept when you were the only one of your kind.This will end up as an E-rated fic - I've already written the first sex scene - but as I love to read slow burners I've tried to write one here.Happy New Year everyone!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story happens in the Another Season universe (100% in canon with Season 1 but Vaun is Vaun and Quinlan is Quinlan). It will catch up with the story of the Another Season series and then lead it slightly or follow it slightly. They will not get too out of synch with each other.

* * *

The fortified city of Caffa (Modern day Feodosia, Crimea) – 1357

The two friends sat side by side, squashed together on the same stool, comparing their faces in a small tortoiseshell mirror. The brunette smiled at her likeness, evidently pleased with what she saw - and with good reason. Her companion was less happy with the image revealed in the silver backing. It was just as crisply outlined, no _strigoi_ blurring effect interfered with the reflection, and she was just as pretty - but much less conventionally so.

Sexta Sertorius removed her head covering and sighed at the smooth, milk-pale dome it revealed. Her friend wasn’t shocked or even surprised by the sight but Sexta grimaced and turned away.

‘Never mind, Sexta,’ said the other girl. ‘At least, you don’t have to pluck your eyebrows.’

Sexta watched Claudia carefully tweezing out some imaginary stray hairs now she had sole access to the mirror. She liked Claudia immensely but sometimes, well, nearly all the time actually, she could be a bit insensitive. She liked the whole Piambo family. Claudia’s brother, Gerolamo had been her playmate throughout her entire childhood and they were still close, and their father had been very welcoming to her and Quintus ever since the plague had come to Caffa, ten years ago. Sexta couldn’t remember those days but she could never remember a time the two households hadn’t been on the most friendly terms.

Households, not families, because she and Quintus were not a family. He insisted that they maintain the charade of father and daughter and their appearances were so similar as to forestall any suspicion to the contrary but they were unrelated and Quintus, while always kind and scrupulously respectful, never once showed any paternal affection or warmth towards her. The only time he had ever shown anything akin to emotion was the last time she had listened to Claudia’s advice.

Claudia had convinced Sexta that she could be an acknowledged beauty and the darling of all Caffa if only she had hair. Claudia had “borrowed” her stepmother’s spare wig and Sexta had been so taken with the effect of long wavy black tresses that she had worn it home.

Quintus had been furious. His rage had been frightening and hard to bear because so unprecedented and, Sexta felt, so undeserved. It wasn’t as if she had ever been told not to wear a wig and she hadn’t hurt anyone. Worst of all, she didn’t understand his passion. Had he felt insulted because she’d shunned the baldness they shared? Claudia had thought that it was more likely to be that she’d reminded him of someone from his past. In that point, at least, she proved to be the more perceptive of the two.

Sexta realised then that she knew nothing about her guardian and mentor. He had never hidden her own extraordinary origins from her and she had assumed that he was the same, part strix and part human. Certainly, although her eyes were slightly bluer than his they were still strikingly unlike those of anyone else in Caffa and, while her skin was just pink enough to pass as the pallor of some strange medical condition rather than Quintus’ otherworldly complexion, there was no denying the similarity there either.

Indeed, that was how Quintus explained their peculiar looks to the Piambos and the rest of Caffa society. He said they both had an inherited skin disease. It was not contagious, he assured everyone, but it meant that they were particularly susceptible to sunburn and could only stand short periods of summer sunshine. This rule was not strictly necessary for Sexta because she was more tolerant of daylight than he was but she followed his guidance in this as in all things.

‘Does your father ever smile, Sexta?’ Claudia asked, out of nowhere and with forced nonchalance, as if she had been thinking about Quintus for a while.

‘Not at me,’ sighed Sexta. ‘I am always to be kept at a distance, even more so since the hair incident. I wish I knew him better, Claudia. I wish he would talk to me as if we were friends – like Gero does.’

‘My father doesn’t often converse with me, Sexta. Girls are not like boys, you know.’

Sexta sighed yet again. ‘Quintus doesn’t treat me like a son, either, despite the warrior training. I am an apprentice soldier to him – or…or a weapon.’

‘You two are very odd, certainly,’ announced Claudia in condemnatory tones. ‘Why do you call him by his Christian name and not “Father” like normal daughters? And, why, in the name of all that’s respectable, is he teaching you how to fight?’

‘I don’t know, Claudia. Everything about him is a mystery.’

‘Well, I think you need to solve some of these mysteries. If he’s going to force you into questionable and unfeminine practices…’ Sexta snorted with amusement, making Claudia glare at her before she continued, ‘…then he owes it to your reputation to explain himself.’

Sexta laughed aloud at her friend’s pomposity but kissed her frown as she left. ‘You are right, I know,’ she announced as if she were deciding to face down a monster. ‘I shall be resolute and speak with him tonight.’

* * *

On the way home, Sexta contemplated how to introduce the subject of Quintus’ history and nature. She decided on a single question on a matter she’d often pondered, an aspect of his make-up that she was certain differed from her own. Yet the more she dwelt on it, the more anxious she became and when she saw him seated at his desk, quill in hand, his stern gaze focussed exclusively on his work, her nerve nearly failed her completely.

Sexta had never heard of an iceberg but if she had she would have compared Quintus to one – big, white, cold, dangerous…impossibly, untouchably beautiful and, of course, with hidden depths never revealed to a superficial observer. He was wearing the doublet and hose of a wealthy medieval gentleman, the definition of his thigh muscles visible through the thin leg coverings even in the semi-darkness. Naturally, he needed no additional light, unlike Sexta who held a candle in her trembling hand.

He must have been aware of her presence. He must have been able to smell the burning wick, if not Sexta herself and she felt that even a human could hear her pink blood pounding in her tiny heart.

Quintus Sertorius, however, was dealing with their recent altercation as most men do, by acting as if had never happened and, wherever possible, by avoiding the other party in the confrontation. If Sexta had obeyed her human flight instincts, he would have pretended that he’d never noticed her standing in the shadows. But Sexta was not human – not entirely - and, to Quintus’ dismay, she swallowed audibly, smoothed her silk dress and stepped forward.

Quintus suppressed whatever he’d been feeling and rose chivalrously to take the candle from her. When he felt her quivering fingers, he said, 'If you are cold, Sexta, you should put on your mantle.'  
He must have known that it wasn’t the temperature but he maintained the charade of oblivious innocence, his tone flat and calm. Before she could reply, he took her hands in his as he had often done before, warming her chillier, more human flesh with his higher body temperature and demonstrating that there was no ill will. This time, though, she gasped a little at the simple, everyday contact. He should have released her, he knew, but for some reason he held on, not gripping or squeezing but not letting go either. For her part, she showed no sign of desiring escape, only a shy consciousness that his touch was no longer the easy gesture of comfort it had previously been.

‘I am not cold, Quintus,' she said. 'I want to ask you a question and I'm nervous.'

‘There is no need for embarrassment between us, child,' he said. And indeed he badly wanted to relieve this tension that had grown steadily between them in the past few days.

Sexta had been quite right when she spoke to Claudia, there was no smile for her and no warmth but there was a degree of welcome in Quintus’ manner because she _was_ welcome. Her presence always used to be a gentle domestic pleasure. 'Come and sit, child,' he bade her, hoping that if he kept repeating the word he’d be able to see her as a child again.

He guided her by the hand to a seat opposite his and she blurted, 'It's a personal matter.'

He withdrew his hand and leant back, his lips compressing almost imperceptibly.

Sexta quailed again but she was committed now. She pushed ahead, 'You don't feed like me, do you?'

He relaxed slightly. 'I drink blood just like you,' he explained, 'but I do not require the direct contact with the donor's skin that you do.'

Sexta relaxed in turn and asked with a child-like candour, 'But then… how do you pierce the flesh?'

He sighed and pondered the distance out of the window for a while. She waited patiently for her answer. Eventually, Quintus focussed on her again and said, 'I have this...'

He extended his stinger, slowly so as not to alarm her but it still made young Sexta's jaw drop. She reached out and tentatively touched a terminal fang. He allowed it to retract with Sexta’s slight pressure so that she didn’t prick herself on it.

'Like the Ancients,' she whispered in awe.

'Not exactly,' explained Quintus when the stinger had been slurped back inside his mouth. 'I am a half-breed.'

'I thought  _I_ was a half-breed,' argued Sexta. 'Why don't I have one of those?'

Quintus sighed again but this time it was more indulgent. 'Because you, child, are unique among all the creatures that walk upon this earth.'

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sexta persuades Quintus to tell her about the other Born. She even manages to coax him into revealing some details about his own origins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd better 'fess up that the basic story of this fic is also covered in Creatures of the Twilight but there it is the bare bones from a neutral POV. Here the Quintus/Sexta relationship is fleshed out considerably and the stories of the other Born are abbreviated to allow me to focus more on those two.

* * *

'…you, child, are unique among all the creatures that walk upon this earth,' Quintus said.

'You mean there are others like  _you_?' Sexta breathed, her eyes wide with wonder. 'Tell me about them… Please.'

So her guide and protector began to tell her everything he knew about the Ancients and the other Born. He told her of Primus, the tortured soul who grew to hate his Sire, Erlik of Siberia. He told her of Secunda, the daughter Born to the Ancient known as Yama of China, raised by loving human parents and now a champion of all who are weak and oppressed. Sexta thought she could detect some sympathy in Quintus for Primus and much admiration for Secunda and she wondered if he had ever met either of them but was loathe to interrupt him to find out.

He continued the tale of the Ancients arising from Ukraine, Sudan, Kashmir and Iran – mighty beings that took the names Wormwood, Kush, Ravana of India and Babylon. Ravana and Babylon had no Born and, despite Primus’ inept and drunken efforts to challenge Erlik, they were not yet considered the most fortunate of Ancients. Nor was the seventh Ancient, the Master, the young rebel who Sexta knew to be Quintus’ Sire, believed to be cursed with two Born.

Sexta listened to the tales with rapt attention but when she heard this last piece of information, she exclaimed, 'Is it me, Quintus? Am I the Master's other Born? Am I your sister?'

She was oddly disturbed by the thought of any familial relationship between them, even one as tenuous as being the Born of the same Ancient. Quintus seemed to have noticed her disquiet because he stared at her, examining her face so intently and for so long that she sighed with relief when he finally dropped his eyes and shook his head.

'No, child. You are no more my sister than you are my daughter. Most of the Born were created soon after their Sire's naissance, when the Ancient was still inexperienced and careless. Tertia was the same…’

‘Nearly two millennia ago,’ Quintus began, ‘the seventh and final Ancient, the Master, first took human form as an Onondaga brave. The newly risen Master returned to his host’s village driven by the longing for his Loved Ones. The entire tribe that followed The Master as his first minions included an expectant mother. Tertia, so named by posterity because she was the third Born, was the daughter Born to this woman.

‘When the baby was born, her turned mother raised her but all the time the Master was watching Tertia, studying her – wondering if she could be a host or vessel for crossing the water back to the other Ancients. He realised that she could not be controlled but his arrogance would not allow him to register her as a potential threat.

‘The Master tested Tertia with streams. She hated it as much as I do, so she resisted. He pushed and pushed, desperate to reunite with the other Ancients, until Tertia panicked and attacked him in a frenzy. He had to kill her.’

'But how do you know all this?' Sexta asked into the pause. 'Especially Tertia's story. It happened so far away - no one alive could have told the tale.'

Quintus gave her a tiny smile and, stepping back, he gestured at the work on his desk introducing it simply as, ' _Filii de opacare_ , The Sons of Twilight.' Sexta moved to examine it, glancing up at Quintus as she passed in front of him. He took a further step away, as if he felt she was still too close to him. She bit her lip, trying not to take it personally.

On the desk, fragments of papyrus had been pieced together and Quintus was in the process of transcribing the text into a leather-bound book. Sexta looked back at him again, puzzled and slightly disappointed. 'It's all in Latin, Quintus. Why have you never taught me that?'

'It is the language of religious cant and intransigence, Sexta. You do not need it.'

'It's the language of scholars and the learned,' she argued. Then, feeling a more conciliatory tone was called for, she added quietly, 'It's your language, Quintus. I would like to know it.'

He looked at her for a moment and then changed the subject, saying, 'Don't you want to hear about Quarta?' He gestured for her to retake her seat opposite. Sexta would much rather have heard about Quintus but she knew him well enough not to press. Besides, she _was_ curious, so she sat down and tried to be patient.

With the table once again safely between them, Quintus continued his tales of the Born. ‘Quarta, or Lady Quartz as she eventually styled herself, was the daughter of a grateful prostitute and her rescuer, recently infected by one of Kush’s spawn. For some reason, the infection so early in pregnancy meant that the newBorn girl was closer in form and function to her strix Sire than any of us…the first three half-breeds.’

‘So…her “Sire” was that still considered to be Kush, even though it was his offspring that infected her parents, rather than Kush himself?’ Sexta interrupted.

Quintus nodded. ‘That is so.’ He paused as if wondering whether to add something else. He opened and closed his mouth once before saying, slowly and carefully, ‘It was thus also with you. When I brought you before the Ancients as a baby…please do not interrupt… Wormwood instantly claimed you as his Born although I personally slew the actual strix who infected your mother.’

While this account was completely true, Quintus had omitted one tiny particular in order to spare Sexta’s feelings…or perhaps to spare him from her condemnation.

Quintus’ face betrayed some guilt but Sexta was too preoccupied by this new information, trivial though it might seem, to observe it. She had always known that Wormwood of Ukraine was her Sire – his possessive demeanour towards her at each annual examination allowed no doubt - but she had assumed that he had turned her mother directly.

Quintus, for his part, resorted to his default system and pretended he hadn’t strayed from Quarta’s tale. ‘The Lady Quartz was a three-quarter-bred,’ he continued. ‘Definitively “Born” because she was free of bloodworms but her eyes were large and liquid-black like those of a strix. In fact, as far as I am aware, they still are…’

‘She’s still alive? You met her?’ exclaimed Sexta in awe. ‘What about Primus and Secunda?’

Quintus hesitated. His acquaintance with the fourth Born was straying into dangerously private territory for him.

‘Quartz is the only one I’ve met personally. She is the Born who made our Sires fear us and try to suppress us – to prevent our creation…Except for you, Sexta,’ he mused. His thoughts drifted, wondering why Wormwood had permitted, nay encouraged her existence.

He recalled bringing the infant to them, unsure of what she was - a turning strix-babe, doomed to starve and “cave” until a horrified human found and killed the shrunken malformed thing, or the first human to survive the infection unharmed. Was it…was _she_ …an object of pity or a new hope?

He should never have taken her there. He should have killed the baby where she lay but he couldn’t, not after… Or he should have found a married Sun Hunter to take care of her. Someone who knew her special dietary needs yet could steel themselves to release her if she turned out to be a simple strix.

Simple…! Simple was the last thing Sexta had turned out to be.

'Please, Quintus?' Sexta begged, drawing him back and catching him slightly off guard. She felt awkward now, absently excavating the grain of the desktop with her thumbnail but again she plunged on. 'You've never told me your story…'

He stared at her for long enough to make her squirm in discomfort. Then he sighed and told her.

He told her of the Master in the body of Thrax, associate of the depraved emperor Caligula; the weekly tributes of virgin slave girls; the ritual feeding on the pedestal; the early pregnancy detected in one girl after Thrax had begun to feed; Caligula's paranoia requiring Thrax's presence and the guards' incompetence in allowing the infected girl to escape.

He recounted his birth in a cave as his turning mother headed south for her Loved Ones; his life as a god amongst men; his career as a warrior and gladiator; even his meeting with Lady Quartz in the Ludus Magnus in Rome and their doomed partnership as a gladiatorial team. Quintus omitted nothing. Nothing that is, except for any mention of his wife and adopted daughter…


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quintus begins telling Sexta her origin story but in much greater detail than ever before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry to readers of Creatures of the Twilight who are disappointed that this is not different enough to that fic. This one will have some exclusive new content soon.

 

_Last chapter: Quintus told Sexta his story for the first time and he omitted nothing. Nothing that is, except for any mention of his wife and adopted daughter…Instead, he dwelt on the memory of his purchase (or rescue) of a pregnant Berber slave girl in the privacy of his own thoughts._

* * *

Caffa – 1357

Sexta listened in awed silence and waited patiently, at least for a while, as Quintus stared absently at the wall panelling for a long time after finishing the censored tale of his own origins.

At last, she thought she understood his previous reticence. She had hoped she would feel closer to him because of it but he seemed even more unreachable – sitting there motionless, as cold and distant as the moon.

She began to feel invisible and insignificant, as inconsequential to him as the chair she was sitting in. At length, unable to bear the suspense any longer, she placed a sympathetic hand on his.

Quintus physically leapt out of his reverie as her touch jerked him back to Caffa.

‘Oh Quintus,’ said Sexta. ‘I’m so sorry. That’s why you hate the Master so much - he killed your mother…’

‘My mother…?’ murmured Quintus. ‘Yes…’ He paused for further contemplation. He seemed to be trying to reach a decision about something.

This time, it didn’t seem to take quite so long before his head turned her way again. He seemed resolute, braced for whatever the results of his revelation. ‘Sexta there is something I must tell you…’

Her eyes seemed huge as they gazed, innocent and trusting, into his. He took a deep breath and began. ‘Fifteen years ago, five years before you were born, a great host of Mongol horse-warriors came against this city. They were “The Golden Horde”, led by Jani Beg, descendant of the legendary warlord Genghis Khan…’

‘Yes, I know all of this part…’ interrupted Sexta.

‘No, child, you do not “know _all_ of this part”. Remain silent now and allow me to continue.’

She obeyed without resentment. She was used to taking his commands and as his voice was quiet and his tone mild, she knew she hadn’t offended him too seriously.

‘The horsemen still numbered in their tens of thousands,’ Quintus resumed. ‘Yet many multiples more than this had set out from their Steppe homeland on Mongolia’s borders with China. The Horde had been drastically depleted by the disease the humans call “the Black Death”. They infected each other and the communities they pillaged along their way, spreading the infection westward along the Silk Road.

‘As they neared Caffa, another disease seized the opportunity to hide itself amongst the plague-ridden horde. The Master’s Strain took hold.

‘The Horde travelled by day and the prevalence of the Strain naturally fluctuated according to the sunlight exposure. Those “turning” in the night survived and fled, hiding in caves before sunrise (but not before infecting their comrades). Others suffered a different fate. Unable to seek shelter because of the Horde’s code of honour and their bonds of loyalty to Jani Beg, they shrivelled and died in the sun. Some were probably shot as deserters when a new Lord took over their will and demanded fealty.

‘When the doubly infected Horde reached Caffa, they found a heavily fortified city within two concentric walls. Unable to penetrate the defences, they laid siege. What was not immediately apparent to the invaders was that Caffa was afforded additional protection by the Ancients’ Hunters waging an unseen war against the Master’s minions. Outside the city walls, the Hunters were under the direct control of their respective Sires but I led the defence inside the citadel.

‘Jani Beg faced this unforeseen resistance of ours in addition to recurring outbreaks of bubonic plague and losses due to attacks by the Master and the other Ancients. In the winter of 1346-47, the Khan assayed a horrific innovation in the art of warfare: he ordered dead bodies to be loaded into the trebuchets. Most of the cadavers were infected with the Black Death _,_ others carried the Master’s disease in addition and a few were super-infected with the other Ancients’ strains.

‘One night in 1347, the captain of the militia was leading a crew following me around the internal perimeter of the city walls. The city militia were not Sun Hunters, humans who knew our secret, but I had warned them not to touch any corpses and to prevent contamination by burning all bodies on sight. However, the captain – a friend of mine, and an otherwise excellent man - was a devout Christian and felt increasingly sickened by this latest tactic of people he regarded as heathens.

‘I had left his squad behind to dispatch any stragglers as I led a mixed force of Hunters and Sun Hunters. Several hours into a successful patrol, one of the captain’s men came towards me, screaming. My team melted away out of sight and the guard panted out his message. His lieutenant had sent for me as a matter of prime urgency, having taken over the watch as his captain became incapacitated with a virulent infection.

‘It seems the captain had been rash enough to ignore my directions when a Mongol cadaver catapulted over the walls and crashed through a church roof onto an altar. Despite his men fervently reiterating my instructions, he thought it best to rush into the building, drag the body out into the street and urinate over it.’

Quintus paused, aware that his disapproval of her father’s foolish failure to prioritise human life over religious jealousy must be audible to Sexta. However, she was simply gazing up at him, absorbed in the story. She had never heard it in such personal detail before.

‘Go on,’ she encouraged him. ‘Please, Quintus.’

He readily complied, wanting to make a clean breast of this particular secret.

‘When I reached the lieutenant, it transpired that he had counselled the captain to return home while the men finished their patrol. This advice had, to my mind, merely compounded evil upon evil, because I knew – as did the lieutenant and all the captain’s men – that he had a wife and newborn daughter at home.’

‘Me,’ said Sexta.

‘You,’ Quintus nodded. He stole a quick glance to see how she was receiving the story before continuing.

‘I made my way to the captain’s home with all haste but it seemed now that every strix in Europe were between my destination and me. When I eventually arrived I was so frustrated with my impeded progress that I broke the door down in my impatience.

‘I assessed the situation at a glance. Your father was well advanced in his transformation and your mother too, was already pale and sick because of Wormwood of Ukraine’s infection pumping through her body. To my horror, she was clasping you to her breast, in an instinctive attempt, I can only assume, to comfort you. You sucked ravenously, taking in great mouthfuls of breast milk. Milk that, like the placental blood in my case and those of Primus, Secunda and Tertia and the semen of Quarta’s father, contained strix taint but no worms. But of course, you were not at the foetal stage like we half breeds were. Nor were you an embryo that grew from strix essence combined with that from two human parents as in the case of the three-quarter-breed, Quarta.

‘You were human, infected in the very first days of life with blood but not with worm.

‘Within moments, I had released your mother and father and held you safely away from the worms. You were so small then, you fitted in one of my hands.’ He paused, looking wistfully into the past.

‘I held you there, my _gladius_ pointing at your throat. Not deciding whether to spare you; I had already determined that you also must die. However, it took me an inordinately long time to complete the task. I, the gladiator who had challenged the gods, was unable to kill a helpless newborn.’

Quintus stopped again, this time recalling the birth of his wife’s child. He could not explain to Sexta that she was the second babe to be held in his arms and that his love for his adopted daughter and the enduring pain of her loss was the reason for his misguided reluctance to accept Sexta in the same relationship. He also dared not tell her that he had stared into the infant Sexta’s eyes for several seconds before telling her, ‘No. Never again,’ replacing her gently in her cradle, and abandoning her to her fate.

It was bad enough that he had just confessed to the murder of both her parents. He watched Sexta for a time, keen to see how she had taken the news. She was scowling, not meeting his eyes. Unconsciously, he held his breath, as if her response were of life-and-death importance to him.

It took far too long but eventually she looked at him again and said, ‘So…I’m not really Born at all?’

‘Sexta, I killed your parents,’ Quintus said, slightly exasperated. ‘Have you nothing to say about that?’

‘I am sorry you had to release your friends, Quintus,’ she said. ‘But I’m glad it was you and that it was quick. You must see that you have been my entire world for as long as I can remember. _You_ , Quintus, not the woman who bore me or the man who sired me… oh, and Bernarda and the Piambos, I suppose.’

She thought for a moment, while Quintus stared again, unable to understand her attitude and feeling a little bit let off the hook.

‘So if you are a half-breed and I am more human, does that mean I’m a quarter-breed?’ she asked next.

He shrugged. ‘I suppose that would be a reasonably accurate supposition. It is not only your external appearance that is intermediate between that of an ordinary human and mine. Your growth rate, for example, has been approximately half of mine. You are only ten years old yet seem to be a fifteen-year-old human, but when I was your age, I was fully matured.’

She mulled this over for a moment and then followed a different tack. ‘Would other quarter-breeds be created if the blood - but not the worms - of a turning human were to corrupt another person?’

‘I do not know Sexta, but the book, _Filii de Opacare,_ suggests that you are the only one of your kind - the only quarter-breed, as you put it - that has ever been or will ever be. And to my knowledge, the circumstances of your origin have never occurred previously. Usually the worms would also reach the victim. It was only my swift attendance that prevented them doing so in your case.’

Quintus omitted one more detail - that, ten years ago, he had left the infected baby to just such an end. Fortunately for her, she had objected so loudly and tenaciously to his desertion that her distraught wailing had tormented his conscience as well as his ears and he had returned two minutes later, frowning.

‘Very well,’ he had said, picking her up. Her noisy distress had ceased the instant he touched her.

‘What _are_ you?’ he’d whispered. She had then, only minutes after her feed of virus-infected milk, seemed completely human.

Quintus remembered perfectly, her wiggling a tiny fist and smiling so disarmingly that he had almost returned the gesture before recalling some ancient wisdom. Instead, he had muttered sternly, ‘It is probably only wind.’

He could not submit himself a second time to the bondage of human affection. He could not give the Master a chance to hold over him the fate and love of a second child. He could not and he would not. It had taken more than a dozen centuries for the power the Master exerted through his Berber family to diminish thus far and Quintus remembered the pain and weakness too vividly to soon wish his neck bent once more beneath that yoke.

‘Whatever kind of thing you are… you will never be my daughter,’ he had warned the child. ‘Do you understand?’

Baby Sexta had blown a bubble with a tiny burp.

That crusty old midwife had been right: It _was_ only wind.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quintus Sertorius tells Sexta how he coped with the early challenges facing him as he assumed guardianship of her. In particular, he recounts the tale of her first meeting with the Ancients and her Sire, Wormwood of Ukraine. But there is an interruption.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I apologise that this is very similar to the story from Creatures of the Twilight, although perhaps with a few more new bits in comparison to the last chapter.

* * *

Caffa -1357

After neglecting to mention his delay in rescuing baby Sexta, a slightly embarrassed Quintus, in a quieter time, continued his tale.

‘There I was,’ he told her, glossing over the details that reflected less well upon him, ‘with a human infant or a strix in my hands and no aid or facility to cope with either eventuality…’

‘What on earth did you do with me?’ Sexta interrupted. ‘How did you find out what I was?’

‘Initially, I waited,’ he said. ‘Or to put it more accurately, I did nothing because I could think of nothing to do. I brought you here and watched you for several hours – until the sun rose and Bernarda came to clean for me as she usually did. As she still does.

‘Bernarda came to me as the widow of a Sun Hunter and because a bachelor of independent means needs a woman of matronly respectability to keep his house and chaperone any lady visitors. As a rule, Sun Hunters do not live long enough to marry but Bernarda’s husband came to the struggle later in life. She was therefore already aware of my special requirements.’

‘She told me all this several years ago…’

‘Did she indeed?’ he mused, resolving to caution his doughty servant once again about the dangers of overfamiliarity.

‘Well,’ he continued, ‘she came in that morning and found me staring in perplexity at a screaming infant and assumed command. She engaged a wet nurse because you drank milk for the first three days of your life. We believed you might resist the transformation because your eyes were also still human...’

‘What colour were they?’

‘What?’ Quintus’ head jerked up. ‘What an odd question... They were the dark blue of all the newly born, but I am certain that they would have become dark brown like those of your birth parents in time. You had hair also, at first. Similarly brown…’

His thoughts wandered off again – to other brunettes, other lives and other loves.

Sexta continued the story as far as she knew it. ‘…But then I bit the wet nurse and she refused to attend me again.’

‘Yes…’ said Quintus, his mind back with her again. ‘That is when I brought you before the Ancients.’

‘Tell me about that, Quintus,’ she urged. ‘Please.’

‘Very well, child,’ he yielded. ‘I attended the Ancients’ majestic residence in the catacombs beneath Caffa, and brought you into the audience hall. It was quiet and dark with their six white oak sarcophagi, each unique in design and size, lining the walls. The Ancients, all of them (excepting the Master, of course), entered in solemn pomp, wearing their ceremonial robes and gravely awaited my petition. I announced myself respectfully and, raising your sleeping form to the assembled court, I begged their counsel - selecting the most deferential language I could conjure.

‘The Ancient who styled itself Wormwood, whose host was new and still outwardly female, approached and studied you.

‘I believe she, or it, began to converse telepathically until she realised that as I was not of her Strain, nor that of any Ancient there present, I could not hear her thoughts. She adjusted to speaking aloud. “I have felt this creature, these last nights… My Born… Why have you not offered it to me before this time?”

‘”She _is_ Born, then… My Lord Wormwood?” I asked.

‘”Do you know of her creation?” Wormwood asked imperiously.

‘”Do _you_?” I rejoined a fraction too smartly making the Ancients hiss in displeasure.

‘”Certainly, I do” Wormwood said. “It is of my blood, yet not of my worm. “Born” is the most apposite term in this tongue.”

‘The other Ancients appeared to be conversing telepathically again so obviously their discussion was not intelligible to me.

‘Without warning or asking, Wormwood suddenly snatched you from my arms. I was annoyed and tried to retain possession but it become apparent that the Ancient wanted only to examine you thoroughly. It removed the blanket, dress and nether swaddling and turned you upside down. This action naturally woke you up. Your instant reaction was to wail but as Wormwood’s hot face sniffed and licked you, you began, much to my surprise, to giggle. Or so it sounded to me; I was long ago informed that new born humans are unable to laugh or smile.’

‘But I _wasn’t_ human,’ she said.

‘Nonetheless, as rapidly as you developed, it was still many weeks before you began truly to smile.’ He stopped and thought for a moment.

‘You smile a great deal, Sexta,’ he added reflectively.

There was an undercurrent of accusation to the statement, Sexta felt. She was stung.

‘You hardly smile at all, Quintus,’ she blurted, almost in retaliation. Her undercurrent was a plaintive one, as if she would have preferred a sunnier mentor. And it was much more overt.

She regretted it immediately and doubly so when he turned and fixed her with the stare. She dropped her eyes to try to avoid it but it seemed to burn through her skull. For a fraction of a second, he had seemed hurt and that in turn caused her more pain and embarrassment than any amount of disapproval.

‘I am sorry, Quintus, I didn’t mean…’ she began to tell her lap but he cut her off.

‘Joy can be stolen,’ he said sharply. Then he took a deep breath and resumed as if the misunderstanding had never occurred.

‘While you were largely unperturbed, I found this rough and proprietary attention towards you troubling and Wormwood noticed my disquiet. Meanwhile, the discussion between the other Ancients had escalated into an angry dispute, with two apparently siding with Wormwood and me, and an opposing three arguing aloud for your swift termination.

‘Kush was anxious… frightened even and he shouted, “Remember Quarta?” who was _his_ Born, of course. He turned to Erlik of Siberia, as if he were the most likely to add his support. “And do you forget the trouble Primus has caused?” 

‘Erlik, despite being the most senior by nearly two centuries, did not, and _does_ not, hold a special status amongst the six. He was, however, the calmest, saying, “The child is nearly human. Think of the possibilities.” This perplexed me at the time and has caused me great unease ever since, but as the others were yelling, “No more Born…!” and baying for your death, I seized on his declaration as support for my cause.’

‘You wanted to keep me, then?’ interrupted Sexta hopefully.

Quintus paused once again and considered how best to explain his standpoint. ‘Sexta, you will discover that, sometimes in life, your own thoughts and wishes are only discovered when another vehemently propounds their antithesis. Now, may I continue my narrative without further disruption?’

Sexta nodded sheepishly and Quintus resumed.

‘Erlik fervently repeated his exhortation: “Are you blind to the opportunity…?” before slipping into telepathy, I presumed for reasons of secrecy from me. To my consternation, the silent communication had seemingly caused hope to dawn for Kush and he exclaimed, “Against Quarta?”  “Yes,” Erlik affirmed, “And against the Young One.” That is one of their names for he who calls himself the Master.

‘Another Ancient protested that the Born could not be controlled but Wormwood interjected, “The Sixth Born is MINE! The risk is MINE! And I choose to take it.” This truth was acknowledged by all the others, albeit reluctantly, and the argument was over.

‘Wormwood issued instructions for me to find someone to raise you, to train you as a Hunter when you were old enough and to bring you back for examination every thirteen moons.

‘I knew that they were ordering me around as if I were just another Hunter but I did not complain. In fact, I felt satisfied with the outcome. And of course, Bernarda was delighted to be able to keep you. At first, she persisted in calling you Sophia - your human name, the name your parents gave you,’ Quintus told Sexta, ‘but I warned her against becoming too attached in case…’

‘In case of what?’ Sexta asked, crestfallen.

‘In case of unforeseen occurrences,’ he said peremptorily. ‘She maintained that she needed to call you _something_ , so I simply considered the description your Sire had given you – “the Sixth Born” and designated you in Latin in accordance with the series chronicled in the book, _Filii de Opacare._ ’

Sexta felt somewhat chastened at this rather cool account of her naming. It was heartless, really. At least he had given her his family name of Sertorius. It had almost certainly been solely a matter of convention - society would have expected his daughter to bear his name, but she still took some comfort in the fact that, for whatever reason, he had marked her as belonging to him.

‘Your upbringing was entirely Bernarda’s province until you were strong enough to learn the first unarmed manoeuvres,’ Quintus told her. ‘Nevertheless, I still had to find a way to feed you, to bring you fresh blood in a plague-ridden city under siege. The hunting was meagre enough for me that winter, so I…’

He was suddenly interrupted by a handsome young man, in his late teens, bursting through the door.

‘I know what’s going on…’ panted Gerolamo Piambo.

 


End file.
